Trial Without Error
by Soledad
Summary: Atlantis x JAG x varius German cop shows. Set after Ep 1.13 Hot Zone of Atlantis, in the Moments of Joy AU. What if Sheppard and Bates didn't get away so easily for not following Weir's orders?
1. Chapter 1  Confrontation

**Trial Without Error**

**Author:** Soledad

**Fandom:** Stargate: Atlantis

**Genre:** Court drama

**Rating:** General, suitable for all.

**Series/sequel:** might be integrated into my Atlantis AU "Moments of Joy", eventually. Or not. We'll see.

**Archiving:** my website and Otherworlds. Everyone else: ask, please.

**Disclaimer:** don't own them, no money made. All secondary characters are borrowed from various TV-shows, mostly German ones and JAG.

**Timeframe:** Season 1, right after "Hot Zone".

**Warning:** Massively AU and not for Sheppard fans. Read at your own risk.

**Summary:** The PTB let Sheppard and Bates get away with disobeying the direct orders of a civilian leader they were supposed to answer to. Now, I believe that in order to keep up the stability of such an international and multicultural colony, that shouldn't have happen. So, here is the correction.

**

* * *

Introduction **

This story is set in the "Moment of Joy" universe. In this alternate universe Dr. Weir has the first name Theresa and is still played by the one and only Jessica Steen.

Also, in this universe the PTB, knowing that the expedition may never return to Earth, had done a bit more prep work and equipped the people with the rudimentary means of a government: that means lawyers and clerks, too. For practical reasons, most of these are also military personnel, but not all of them – and definitely not all of them are Americans.

Major John Sheppard parked the puddle jumper where it belonged and sauntered out of the hangar, shaken and a bit groggy but extremely satisfied. Once again, he'd managed to keep the upper hand, and beyond that, he'd saved the city. All in one striking act. What was there _not_ to be satisfied with?

His self-satisfaction deflated a bit, though, when he encountered Michael Naseband just outside the hangar door. For some reason, the mere idea of _civilian_ security teams on an expedition like this irritated him to no end. The entire Stargate program thanked its existence the US military, so it would have been only just if the US military had been solely entrusted with the protection of the Atlantis expedition as well. But since the majority of the scientist came from other countries, their governments had got to say something about it, and the Germans insisted to send their own security people with their geeks. Which was ridiculous.

It wasn't so that Sheppard would have been a sticker to the rules or overly militaristic – he was _not_. Every single commanding officer of his could have vouched for _that_. But he preferred to have the protection of Atlantis (or, indeed, any other unit he was involved with) firmly in _one_ hand. Preferably his own. Hell, that was what he'd been trained for. This situation of mixed responsibilities only served to create confusion in a crisis.

As a rule, he was well capable of intimidate civilians into following him wherever he wanted them to be. Or to charm them into doing the same thing. It even worked with Rodney McKay, one of the most stubborn people he'd ever met. But Michael Naseband made him… uncomfortable. That big, bald-headed, quietly sarcastic man, with decades of police investigations under his belt, was completely immune against the famous Sheppard charm – the only reaction Sheppard had ever got from him was mild irritation.

So, yes, it was more than understandable that the German was the last person Sheppard wanted to see at a time when he was exhausted and sweaty and dirty and hungry and… just plain fed up with civilians. Nonetheless, it was wiser to show at least a minimum of politeness. Naseband had great influence among the German soldiers the Bundeswehr had sent to strengthen the Atlantis contingent, and as the military governor of Atlantis, Sheppard _needed_ to stay on good terms with those guys.

"What do you want, Officer?" he asked tiredly.

"Commissar," Naseband corrected, reminding the major that he was a high-ranking detective, not some street patrol cop. "Dr. Weir asks you to meet her in her office, Major."

"_Now_?" Sheppard asked incredulously. Naseband shrugged.

"_As soon as he lands_, were her exact words," he replied simply. Sheppard rolled his eyes.

"And she couldn't have radioed me? Or are we having problems with the intercom system, too?"

"No," Naseband chose his words carefully, "at least not the technical part of it, in Dr. Weir's opinion. However, she seemed to worry that you might… not take her invitation seriously, so she asked me to escort you to her office."

That didn't sound good. It seemed that she was still royally pissed with him. Well, if nothing else helped, he'd have to do some grovelling. Civilians always liked that from the side of the military. It made them feel in control.

"You?" Sheppard asked. "Wasn't that a bit of overkill? She could have sent any stray Marine for me."

Naseband nodded. "Sure she could," he agreed. "But she wasn't certain that any stray Marine would have done her asking. Not after Sergeant Bates' performance today."

Shit, this was more serious than he'd have guessed. _Royally pissed_ probably wouldn't even begin to describe Weir's reaction. He'd have to yank things into the right perspective before everything went to hell.

"All right," he said, "let's go then."

* * *

Dr. Weir's office was almost dark when they arrived, the elegant, blonde woman leaning against one of the large windows, the shadows sharpening her features to a mask of exhaustion and disappointment – but also one of grim determination. 

"Thank you, Mr. Naseband," she said. "Major, have a seat. Coffee?"

Sheppard shook his head, trying to figure out what to expect. But her manners didn't reveal anything. Small wonder; she was a skilled and highly successful diplomat, she had her poker face firmly in place.

"Can I do anything else for you, Dr. Weir?" Naseband asked her, and she nodded.

"Yes. Please inform Dr. Kirkitadze and Major Vogel about my decision, and ask them to consult me here, in" she glanced at her wrist watch, "say, in thirty minutes. This won't be long."

Naseband nodded and left without a further word. Despite her previous declaration of this meeting not supposed to be long, Dr. Weir didn't seem to be in a great hurry. She poured herself a coup of coffee from a thermos flask and drank it with small, thoughtful sips. Only when the cup was empty and replaced on the tray did she turn to Sheppard.

"So… are you all right then, Major?" she asked in a neutral manner. "You seem a bit battered, to be honest."

Sheppard dismissed her concern with a wave of his hand. "Yeah, just a little nuke – nothin', really."

She didn't seem to like his flippant attitude but let it slip for the moment.

"The _naquadah_ generator plan was very clever," she said instead evenly. "Good work."

"Thank you," Sheppard replied with a sarcastic bow of his head, "but it really wasn't necessary to drag me here just to say so. It would have been enough to pat my shoulders in the morning. Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to bed. It was a somewhat… bumpy ride, and I hurt in places I forgot to even exist."

He stood up to leave, but Dr. Weir's voice stopped him mid-track.

"However," she said, her tone revealing that the actual reason of their impromptu meeting hadn't been to compliment him at all, "it cost us one of our spare energy sources. That's _one_ thing we need to discuss. The other is what happened earlier."

Sheppard turned around wearily. "_Now_?"

"Of course not," she replied, not allowing her irritation to colour her voice. "There will be ample time to analyze the details later. I just wanted to make something very clear: that can _never_ happen again."

Sheppard looked at her for a moment, realizing that she was angrier than he might have thought. He returned to the desk and sat down again.

"Look, I'm sorry about..." he began, but he was interrupted at once.

"No, Major, I don't think you really are," Dr. Weir said slowly. "I think you're quite smug about the outcome of things. Now, I understand your expertise in military matters and I agree that I should defer to that expertise in such situations."

"Thank you!" Sheppard commented sarcastically, but she went on as if she hadn't heard his comment at all.

"But you are not the one who decides what is and what is not a military situation," she said. "Both General O'Neill and Colonel Sumner warned me that you don't respect the proper chain of command, but I thought we could work out a solution."

Sheppard shrugged. "Well, sometimes I see a situation a little different than..."

"No," she interrupted him again, this time anger unmistakably flashing in her eyes. "That's not the point, Major. The point is that you – _you_ who were so eager to remind Colonel Sumner who's giving the orders here – you disobeyed my orders at the first time we disagreed. As a result, you endangered yourself and the lives of many others."

"Because I thought it was the best course of action to take!" Sheppard snapped, now fairly annoyed himself. Weir glared at him, her eyes growing cold. It was actually more frightening than any temper tantrum she could have thrown… had she been prone to throwing temper tantrums. Which she was not. Diplomats rarely were.

"And that was reason enough?" she asked. "Where was the guarantee that you were right – which, by the way, you _weren't_!"

"Well, I've saved your ass, haven't I?" Sheppard riposted, more defensively than he'd intended, and that annoyed him. She nodded.

"Yes, you have," she allowed. "But that's beside the point. You wanted to get your way and pulled rank to turn my own chief of security against me to force my hand – that was a low move; one that I won't allow you to repeat."

"So what do you wanna do?" Sheppard asked, not quite able to suppress the smugness in his voice. "You _need_ me."

"I do," she agreed easily. Suspiciously easily for his taste. "But not necessarily in the position you fill right now. There are others of the same rank and with sufficient military expertise."

"You can't remove me from my post," Sheppard protested. "I'm still the military commander of Atlantis."

"Watch me," Weir replied icily. "You think you can make me back off? Well, think again. Not even Vice-President Kinsey managed _that_, and compared with him you are a boy scout; and not even a very skilled one."

While Sheppard was still gaping with indignation, she pushed the call button on her desk. A tall, black-haired, vaguely Middle Eastern man came in – another member of the European security team.

"Please escort Major Sheppard to his quarters, Mr. Kurtulus," she said, "and see that he remains there until he's contacted. And send in Sergeant Bates to me."

The Turkish security officer nodded and gestured the flabbergasted Sheppard to follow him. On their way out, they met a very concerned Bates, but they didn't get the chance to speak to each other.

* * *

Dr. Weir's meeting with Bates was even shorter than the one with Sheppard had been. Actually, it was barely more than an announcement from her side. She was so angry with him that she didn't risk a longer discussion, in fear that she might say something she would regret later. That was one thing she – as the leader of the expedition and a career diplomat – couldn't afford. 

"Sergeant Bates," she said in an even, restrained voice. "I have chosen you as the head of security on Atlantis because I trusted you. I thought you would be able to see beyond your limited militaristic horizon and realize whom you owed your allegiance. Apparently, it was mistaken. You have misused my trust and sided with Major Sheppard against me, in front of my entire staff and before the whole expedition. I can't use a man with divided loyalties, and I can't trust a soldier who turns against the legally established civilian leadership."

Bates opened his mouth to say something, but she silenced her with a sharp gesture.

"Please, don't. You'll have plenty of time to argue for yourself later. I've only called you to inform you that hereby I remove you from your post as chief of security, effective immediately."

"You can't do that, Ma'am!" Bates protested, more shocked than angry, actually.

"I can, and I will," she replied coldly. "I gave you the job in the first place, and I'm taking it away again. It's a temporary solution right now, and there will be a proper hearing rather. I wouldn't keep my hopes up if I were you, though. I'm well within my right, according to the Atlantis Charta."

That was all too true, and Bates knew it. He also knew that she was right. As head of security on a mission that was under _civilian_ leadership, he nominally answered to Dr. Weir, the leader of said mission. Still, he'd instinctively sided with the highest ranking military officer, who had happened to disobey and override a direct order given by the civilian leader. It was a knee-jerk reaction – had he had the time to think about it, he might have reacted differently. Well, it was too late for that now.

"I understand," he said. "What do you want me to do now?"

Exhaustion washed over her face all of a sudden, deepening the lines around her eyes and mouth, making her age years in a single moment.

"You're confined to your quarters until further notice, Sergeant," she answered, her voice flat and tired. "You'll be contacted in the morning. Please leave now."

Bates snapped to attention, turned on his heals smartly and marched out. If he noticed another one from the German security team following him, he gave no sign of it.

Theresa Weir slumped into the seat behind her desk and buried her face in her hands.

"God, I hate this," she murmured, too emotionally drained to be truly angry.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2  Reactions

**Trial Without Error**

**by** **Soledad**

For disclaimer, rating, etc. see the Introduction.

Re: Bates' team. Smithy and Yamato are canon characters. The rest has been made up by me.

**

* * *

Chapter 2 – Reaction**

When Sheppard awoke in the next morning (with a strange weight in his stomach), an e-mail was waiting on his laptop, asking him to visit Major Vogel in his office, first thing in the morning. He was a bit surprised because he'd never had more than the inevitable contact to the other military personnel of Atlantis. The small group of German _Bundeswehr_ soldiers usually kept company with the European scientists and the civilian security team, with which they worked in tandem, and barely mingled with the Marines.

Accordingly, Major Vogel had his office – and his adjoining quarters – between the civilian and military wings, as the inhabited corridors were called, and seemed content with this arrangement. At least no official complain ever landed on Sheppard's desk, and if there had been any, they _would_ have landed there.

So Sheppard could not imagine what Major Vogel – the only other soldier of the same rank as himself – could possibly want from him, but he thought it might be useful to find out. To his surprise, the guard standing in front of his door (this time the pretty blonde, whom her colleagues called Alex, he never cared to learn her last name) didn't object when he left his quarters. She simply followed him in a discreet manner – detectives, even former ones, did have that ability.

Even more was Sheppard surprised when he ran into Sergeant Bates in the corridor that led to Major Vogel's office. The sergeant, too, was followed by a civilian guard.

"What do you do here, Bates?" he asked, irritated for reasons he couldn't understand himself. The sergeant shrugged.

"Got an invitation from the major," he explained with a scowl. "Didn't look as if I could afford to refuse. Afraid we're in deep shit this time, sir."

Sheppard frowned. He knew Bates was paranoid, but…

"What do you mean?" he asked. Bates shot him an incredulous look.

"You mean you don't know, sir?" he said. "Major Vogel is the chief military attorney of the expedition."

"We have military attorneys here?" Sheppard frowned.

Bates rolled his eyes. "Sir, it stands in the Atlantis Charta. Have you never read it?"

Sheppard shrugged. "Never had the patience for legal stuff. Never needed it."

"You will now," Bates prophesized darkly and pushed the buzzer on Major Vogel's office door. "I've got a bad feeling about this, sir, a really bad feeling."

"Don't be ridiculous," Sheppard dismissed him. "What can they do with us? We are only two hundred people or so – _everyone_ is needed."

But Bates shook his head, clearly troubled. "You shouldn't underestimate Dr. Weir, sir."

* * *

The door opened, allowing them into an office that stirred Sheppard's envy at once, as it had no likeness at all with the dark little hole _he_ used as an office. It was airy and full of light, with an ocean view and a large desk – and a few potted plants that were actually _alive_ stood in one corner. Probably a gift of the botanists. Being on good terms with the section of soft sciences obviously paid off, no matter what McKay said.

The man behind the desk matched the office. He was tall and ash blond, with that cold northern handsomeness that often could be found among German men of the Northern provinces… or among Scandinavians. His strong, even features had just the right hint of hardness to keep him from being too pretty, and his dark blue eyes mirrored strong-willed intelligence. He'd been selected for the expedition for being an ace pilot, an experienced attorney _and_ having a strong, natural ATA gene, as Sheppard would learn later. He also spoke four languages aside from his own: English, Russian, French, and even a moderate Japanese. In his mid-thirties, he was the ideal choice to lead the European contingent.

And he was not alone, though the other man Sheppard did know. It was Petty Officer Jason Tiner, the Navy's only contribution to the Atlantis expedition. He'd served at the JAG headquarters in Falls Church, Virginia, before beginning his studies as a military attorney, and had just graduated a year before being selected as Dr. Weir's personal aide. She'd brought him with her to Atlantis for his experience with JAG as well as to placate the Navy.

Major Ralph Vogel rose from behind his decks when the two Americans entered. "Major. Sergeant. Please, have a seat. I trust that you know Petty Officer Tiner?"

"We've met," Sheppard replied curtly. "Now, would you mind to tell me what this is about?"

Vogel gave him a look that caused the temperature in the office to drop several degrees.

"_This_ is about your upcoming trial, Major," he answered icily, his harsh German accent thickening with irritation. "Chief Prosecutor Kirkitadze has ordered an official hearing about the circumstances of yesterday's tragic events."

"_What_?" Sheppard glared at him in disbelief.

"There will be a hearing," Vogel repeated, completely unfazed. "And afterwards, there will be a trial. And you two would better consider what you'll be able to say to your own defence, because it does not look good for you. For either of you."

"That's ridiculous!" Sheppard growled.

"On the contrary," Vogel replied, "this is a very serious affair, Major. Dr. Kirkitadze has the authorization from each government whose citizens are involved in this expedition to act as judge in legal affairs that might concern them, according to international law."

"So what?" Sheppard shrugged. "He's not a military attorney. He can't do us anything."

The look Vogel gave him now was almost sympathetic. "You still don't understand, do you? This is an extraordinary situation. It was known from the beginning that we might never be able to go home, so Dr. Kirkitadze has been given extraordinary authorizations. _Everyone_ on Atlantis is under his jurisdiction, be it military personnel, civilian or alien. _Everyone_. This is a civilian expedition, Major, and Dr. Kirkitadze doesn't take it kindly when the military acts against the civilian leadership. You should _really_ consider how you're going to defend yourselves, because it could end… ugly for you."

"What are our chances, Major?" Bates asked quietly. After last night's conversation with Dr. Weir he didn't have any illusions.

"Slim," Vogel replied with brutal honesty. Bates closed his eyes for a moment.

"So, what am I supposed to do?" he asked.

"I can't give you any advice, as I'll be the prosecutor in this trial," Vogel said. "But Petty Officer Tiner has declared himself willing to take over your defence."

"You gotta be kidding!" Sheppard exclaimed. "Babyface here is supposed to defend us against a shark like Kirkitadze – not to mention _you_ – in a show process? Just how old _is_ he? Sixteen? Seventeen?"

He knew, of course, that Tiner was an adult, but the man looked so… so _green_, he was simply unable to take him seriously.

Which, apparently, had been a mistake.

"_He_ is thirty-two," Tiner said snidely, "and _he_ is a graduated military attorney. _He_ had also worked for JAG lawyers like Admiral Chegwidden, Commander Rabb or Colonel Mackenzie – highly decorated officers who didn't thought themselves too fine to talk directly to _him_ when _he_ was present. But don't worry, Major; if you insist to defend yourself, I'll gladly leave you to your own devices," he turned to Bates. "Have you also a problem with me or are you willing to accept help from someone who actually _does_ know what he's doing?"

Bates looked at the youthful face in which only the eyes were mature and experienced – and made a decision, right out of the gut.

"I'll accept every help I can get," he said.

"A wise decision," Vogel nodded. "Well, gentlemen, I'm going to mail you the official charges as soon as the document is composed. The first hearing will take place tomorrow afternoon. Until then, you're supposed to stay in your quarters, under guard. Food will be delivered to you, but communications to your quarters will be cut… except that to your defender," he glanced at Bates briefly.

"I'll visit you in the afternoon, and we'll prepare for the hearing together," Tiner promised, and Bates nodded miserably.

"That would be all," Vogel said. "You can return to your quarters now."

* * *

Everyone was a bit shocked when the official declaration about the disciplinary hearing appeared on every computer screen of Atlantis. Well, everyone who'd _not_ witnessed Sheppard and Bates' blatant disregard of the civilian leader of their little community, that is. But even those realized how serious the whole affair was, when they saw that Sevarion Kirkitadze will be calling the shots. Major Sheppard's cocky flyboy attitude had apparently caused a legal case of international magnitude, and _that_ was a pretty sensitive thing, even if it happened in the small circle of two hundred people.

"What's gonna happen to the Sergeant now?" Smithy, the simplest soul in Bates' team asked anxiously. Team #2 was having an emergency meeting in one of the empty halls, fuelled by Dr. Zelenka's moonshine. "Are we getting ea new team leader?"

"Unlikely," McKinney, who'd nearly lost an eye in Afghanistan and had been called 'the one-eyed sheriff' ever since, due to the eye-patch he'd to wear for months afterwards (not to mention his startling resemblance to John Wayne) shook his massive head. "There are too few of us here. Everyone is needed. And Gene is the most experienced of us all."

"Besides," Toussaint, one of the few survivors of a secret mission in Belize that went horribly wrong, added, "only a military court could strip him from his rank."

"Perhaps," Yamato, deceivingly slender like a young girl and absolutely deadly in unarmed combat, said pensively. "But Eddie says Dr. Weir was royally pissed at both the Sergeant _and_ Major Sheppard. She's already chewed the major a new one, but it seems she's not half done yet."

There was a collective frown. They'd all figured out by now that Yamato was gay and that he'd a thing going on with the cute Gate technician Eddie Wong, but they never spoke about it. Unlike the brass back home, they didn't care whom Yamato tupped in his spare time, as long as he watched their sixes. Which he always did, and no, not _that_ way, thank you very much. He as a highly trilled killing machine and two hundred per cent reliable, capable of kicking their collective asses during training, and that was the only thing that counted. Besides, due to Yamato's pillow talk they always learned the news first; Eddie was a hopeless gossip.

This one time, though, they'd have preferred _not_ to know.

"So, she's out for blood, eh?" Teague, the team's tech wizard asked morosely. "The Colonel had said that Sheppard was bad news. It's a fucking shame about the Sergeant."

_The Colonel_ was Marshal Sumner, of course, still considered their one and only leader by the Marines of Atlantis, even post mortem.

"We should ask Dr. Simpson what the chances are," Rickman suggested. "She's an Army brat herself; she'll tell us."

"Yeah, but will she know?" Toussaint frowned.

"She's on real good terms with Dr. Weir," Rickman said. "She'll find out."

"Okay," Toussaint nodded. "Who asks her?"

All eyes turned to Yamato, who protested angrily. "I'm not your token woman, guys!"

"No," Rickman agreed. "But if _we_ approach Dr. Simpson in the mess hall, everyone will suspect that we're up to something. _You_, on the other hand, train with her regularly. You can do it discretely."

That was very true, of course, and after some hesitation Yamato gave in. "Oh, all right, I'll do it!"

* * *

As usual, he found Dr. Simpson sitting at the same table as Dr. Kavanagh. The two scientists had a strange, love-hate relationship: they were always fighting viciously at work over every tiny detail but would go on amiably off-duty. They were obviously off-duty now, because Dr. Kavanagh was actually _smiling_; and Yamato had to admit that the man wasn't half bad without that permanent scowl on his face. And that long hair – it must have been a thing of beauty if not braided so tightly.

_Get real, man_, Yamato berated himself. This was not the time to check out hot guys in the mess hall. He was here in behalf of his sergeant. Besides. Dr. Kavanagh would probably break his nose if he'd catch him checking out his assets – or, at least, he'd try. And _that_ could lead to all sorts of unpleasant consequences.

The two had noticed his presence in the meantime, and Dr. Kavanagh looked up at him over the rim of his glasses, customary scowl firmly in place again.

"Yes, Private, can we help you somehow or is this just the new military tactic to intimidate the hell out of us geeks?"

Yamato was surprised that Dr. Kavanagh apparently knew the rank insignia of the Corps, but again, geeks were resourceful people.

"I wanted to speak with Dr. Simpson for a moment," he said, shifting his weight from one foot to another. He wasn't usually a shy person – no Marine ever was – but a smart man minded his manners when about to ask a favour, and among other things, Yamato was a smart man.

Dr. Simpson nodded. She was a rather plain woman, with her pale, freckled face and sandy, shoulder-length hair, but sharp like a razor and as tough as nails – remarkable for a geek, but again, rumour said her father was an Army officer and allegedly the terror of new recruits, which explained a lot.

"Have a seat, Private Yamato," she said, "and tell me what's the problem."

"I'd rather stand, ma'am, if you don't mind," Yamato replied. He didn't want to start any rumours, and some of his fellow Marines had a dirty mind… and an even dirtier mouth.

"Do you two wanna be alone?" Dr. Kavanagh asked sarcastically. Yamato withheld the urge to hit him. That would only lead to complications.

"Calvin," Dr. Simpson scolded her colleague, "don't provoke the man with the big gun. Or the big knife. Not that he'd need a weapon to tear you to pieces," she added with a smirk. "You shouldn't let his size mislead you."

Dr, Kavanagh's first name was _Calvin_? Well, small wonder the man was always so ill-tempered… or that most people didn't even know that he _had_ a first name to begin with. Yamato suppressed a grin. Oh, this will make a good story, once the current crisis was dealt with.

"It won't take long, Ma'am," he said. "I just wanted to ask you about the Sergeant. What you think his choices are, and what we could do to help him. That sort of stuff."

"I see," Dr. Simpson replied. "Well, for starters, the best thing you can do to help him is to _behave_. Show Dr. Weir and the others from the leading staff that you actually _can_ follow orders and respect the status quo. No heroic actions on behalf of Sergeant Bates – you'd only make everything _a lot_ worse for him."

Yamato thought about that for a moment, then he nodded. "Understood, ma'am. Any idea how the Sergeant's chances stand?"

"Not a single one," Dr. Simpson admitted. "But I'll ask around a bit and send you word when I've learned anything. I promise."

Yamato thanked her and left. Kavanagh looked at her with interest.

"You really think Bates has a snowball's chance in hell to come out of this mess unscathed?" he asked.

Julia Simpson shook her head. "No, I just wanted to keep up morale. Morale is important, and Bates' team is devoted to him. It will be hard for them to get used to a new team leader."

"Do you think they'll have to?" Kavanagh asked.

Simpson nodded empathically. "Oh, _yes_. Dr. Weir won't let this one slip. She'll make an example for future uses.

"It's a pity, really," Kavanagh commented. "Bates isn't a bad guy … for a jarhead. He has the right attitude towards things… and people."

Simpson flashed him a wry grin. "You're just defending him because he's every bit as paranoid as you are."

"Paranoid people live longer," Kavanagh replied. "Unless their brains are eaten by malevolent alien nanoviruses, that is."

Simpson sighed. "We've lost a few good people yesterday. Poor Renée Dumais, she's fought so hard to be allowed to come with us, and for what?"

"Kavanagh nodded gloomily. "I'll miss Petersen," he said. "We'd worked together at the SGC, before I moved on to Antarctica. And Zelenka must be devastated. He and Hays were good friends. And we could have lost a lot more people when the virus was spread over half the city. I hope Sheppard gets his ass seriously kicked this time."

"That won't bring back our colleagues, either," Simpson pointed out. "But what it is worth, I hope the same."

* * *

Sergeant Bates was a bit surprised when his door opened, allowing not Petty Officer Tiner, whom he had expected, but Gunnery Sergeant Victor Galindez – formerly of the JAG Headquarters, then at Special Ops in the Middle East, and now on Atlantis as one of the pillars of the local Marine platoon. He hadn't had much contact with the man so far – Galindez didn't belong to any of the scout teams that regularly went off-world – but had heard about him a lot. The smart and handsome man was something of a legend in the Corps – small wonder that he got selected for the Atlantis expedition, where both smarts and experience were required.

"What are you doing here, Gunny?" Bates asked. "Not that I won't appreciate the moral support, but I don't think a casual visit would have been authorised."

"You're right, of course," Galindez nodded. "I'm helping Tiner with your case. We're used to work together, from our time at JAG, and I have a _little_ more experience in law enforcement. I used to be a sheriff for a while, and did a great deal of research at JAG."

"Somehow, I find it hard to imagine the two of you working together," Bates admitted.

"Oh, Tiner's not so bad," Galindez laughed, "and not even as green as he looks. It's hard to betaken seriously, if someone has a baby face like his, but he knows his stuff – and has more balls than a lot of people I've seen in the courtroom. When this is over, remind me to tell you how he saved _my_ ass by doing testimony against his own brother… well, _half_-brother anyway."

"The gay one who'd dragged him to a fetish club?" Bates grinned involuntarily. That one adventure of Petty Officer Tiner was a known thing on Atlantis.

Galindez returned his grin. "News travel fast, it seems."

Bates shrugged. "Well, yeah, we don't get much entertainment here, aside from the gossip."

"In any case," Galindez said, suddenly very serious again, "Tiner knows his stuff, as I said. He's not just book-smart; he's seen many a courtroom close up and has a good grip on what one could expect from a process. You should trust his judgement."

"Do _you_?" Bates asked. Galindez thought about that for a moment.

"In everything that _really_ matters… yeah, I do," he finally said. "In everything else – not a chance! The guy had the worst fashion sense and the weirdest hobbies one can imagine."

Bates let the first part of the answer sink in for a minute. Then he nodded. "Works for me," he said simply.

Consequently, it was a very cooperative Sergeant Bates who welcomed Petty Officer Tiner more than half an hour later. Gunnery Sergeant Galindez, on the other hand, was more than a little irritated.

"You're late," he told the young man. Tiner shrugged, without taking offence at his tone.

"I thought you were here to help me, Gunny, not to play drill sergeant," he replied tiredly. "I've gone through the Atlantis Charta with the fine-toothed comb to see if there are any grey zones we could use for Sergeant Bates' advantage. It took longer than expected, okay? But I didn't want to overlook anything, no matter how slim the chance might be."

"What have you found?" Galindez asked.

"Honestly? Not much," Tiner admitted glumly. "The Charta is very clear about authority and responsibilities; which isn't surprising, considering that dozens of the best lawyers and diplomats from at least six countries worked on it. _Including_ Dr. Weir and Dr. Kirkitadze."

"Which means they're both all too aware what's in it," Galindez said.

Tiner nodded. "I'd say they both know it by the heart. It was their baby, after all, their pet project. We're gonna have a very tough process – and very little time to prepare ourselves."

"What's your strategy?" Bates asked.

"It depends on you," Tiner replied. "Basically, we can approach this from two different angles. One: if you're positive that you've done the right thing by following Major Sheppard's orders over Dr. Weir's head, you can plead innocent, and I can try to haul you out. Two: if you've come to think that you were wrong, you can plead guilty, admit your mistake and cooperate with the court – in which case you could count on a milder sentence."

"I don't wanna deliver Major Sheppard to the knife," Bates said. "The man's an arrogant punk, but he's still the highest ranking military officer on base."

"The highest ranking _American_ officer, you mean," Tiner corrected. "There are other ones of the same rank. And you couldn't harm him more, even if you wanted. That… unpleasant little clash was broadcast through the entire city – and directly witnessed by half a dozen Gate room technicians."

"Will they be heard, too?" Galindez asked.

"Every single one of them… _and_ all surviving scientists from the search team. _And_ the Marines escorting them," Tiner replied grimly. "Dr. Kirkitadze is nothing if not thorough."

"And who's gonna defend the major?" Bates asked.

"Apparently, he's decided to defend himself," Tiner answered with a shrug. "If he's so eager to put his own neck into the loop, who am I to spoil his fun?"

"Can't they order you to take over his defence, too?" Galindez asked. "For his own good?"

Tiner shook his head. "Gunny, I was given independent status from _all_ military authorities on this base for exactly this reason: that nobody could order me to do things, or to leave them alone," he said. "Only Dr. Weir could order me to do anything; the commission specifically asked for someone from the Navy, so that I wouldn't have to answer to the major _or_ to any Marine officer here. I am _the_ JAG officer of the base, with all the duties and privileges of that position."

"Just don't let if get to your head," Galindez murmured.

Tiner pretended that he hadn't heard the comment. He turned to Bates instead.

"Well, Sergeant," he said. "You need to make a decision here, so that I can build up my strategy for the trial. What are you gonna plead?"

"I dunno," Bates replied in frustration. "What would _you_ do?"

"Are you asking for my expert opinion or what the law says?" Tiner tried to clarify.

Bates shrugged. "Both, I guess."

"Fair enough," Tiner nodded. "Well, my opinion as your defence attorney is that you should plead guilty. The letter of the law says you _are_ guilty; there's no loophole, I'm afraid. Plus, you'd get a better deal out of it that way. But ultimately, it's your life and your decisions – you must decide according to your conscience."

* * *

It was late afternoon when Dr. Radek Zelenka and his Athosian wife, Marta, returned from the mainland where they had buried Dr. Paul Hays. The late scientist had named Dr. Zelenka to be the one to carry out his last will, which had been to be buried in real soil… no matter where, but in soil. Not cremated, not shot into space somewhere, but properly buried, in the old-fashioned way, ashes to ashes, dust to dust.

Halling, the Athosian leader, who also acted as something between a priest and a ceremony master for his people, had performed their ancient ritual called the Ring Ceremony, baring up the scientists in a ring of upright stones and playing a lilting lament on their various instruments. It had been a very moving scene, with Marta singing the farewell hymn in her soft, child-like voice. Radek thought that Paul Hays would have liked it.

On their way back, Sergeant Jamie Markham, who'd been flying Jumper #4, gave them a short summary of the newest events – including Dr. McKay's theory that the nanovirus had been made by the Ancients themselves _and_ the upcoming trial.

"It seems that both Gene and the major are in deep sh… I mean, trouble," Markham corrected himself mid-word, shooting Marta an apologetic look. He'd been taught _not_ to swear in the presence of ladies, and – Athosian or not – Dr. Zelenka's wife counted as a lady. Mrs. Markham had been adamant when it came to decent manners, even though she'd tended to spoil her only son rotten in almost every other thing.

"Are they being punished?" Marta asked quietly. Radek nodded.

"I believe so… and I must say that I agree. I don't wish either Sergeant Bates or the major any harm, but truth is, they _have_ endangered everyone in Atlantis. Even though Major Sheppard saved us in the end, there must be consequences."

"But does the good he did in the end not outweigh the wrong he did in the beginning?" Marta asked, not defending the major, just pointing out other aspects of the whole affair. Although she couldn't help but being grateful towards the man who'd saved her husband from dying a quick but brutal death in the last minute.

"The results should be considered in his favour," Radek agreed, "but they cannot excuse his methods, since there were other methods, less risky ones. He was being reckless; he thought because he's military, he's allowed to disregards civilian leaders. That is dangerous example that must not remain unpunished, or else Atlantis will become military dictature."

"Hey, doc, aren't you exaggerating a bit?" Markham protested. "Why are you geeks always suspecting the military wants to take over everything?"

"Perhaps because military _has_ tendency to take things into own hands, whenever they get impatient," Zelenka replied dryly. "It doesn't have to start with shooting people on the streets, Sergeant. _That's_ consequence, not true reason. Things usually start on small scale… just like yesterday. With _little_ things," he showed between his thumb and index finger how little the beginning could be. "Fuelled by best intentions, I don't doubt _that_. I assume you know what they say about good intentions, yes?"

Markham shook his head in bewilderment. Joining the Marine Corps at the age of sixteen after a sheltered childhood he tended to take things for face value, without pondering over hidden motives. That was Stackhouse's forte. Which was probably the reason why Stackhouse was a team leader and Markham was not.

"I still think you're paranoid, doc," he said.

"Oh, I certainly am," Zelenka agreed amiably. "Is very useful character trait. Kept me alive during my youth in Czechoslovakia."

That shut Markham up for good. Like too many Americans, he didn't know much about what had been going on behind the Iron Curtain during all those decades of communist regime, save the black-and-white clichés that had been spoon-fed to people through the media. Talking to someone who'd actually _lived_ through all that made him a bit uncomfortable. He didn't know what to say, so he wisely chose to remain silent. After all, a pilot did well to stay on the good side of the man who maintained all the puddlejumpers.

"We're here," he said after a while, when Atlantis' automated guiding system took over for him and the jumper was towed in to its usual rack. The doors of the small ship slid aside to allow them to depart.

Zelenka thanked him – the man was infallibly polite in most cases, unless he had to stand up to Dr. McKay in some scientific debate – and taking his wife's hand, he left the jumper bay.

Markham looked after them carefully. He had the uncomfortable feeling that many of the civilians shared Dr. Zelenka's opinion… and that not everyone would be so measured about it than the Czech engineer.

This was certainly going to be a spectacular hearing. And while Markham didn't really want Major Sheppard any harm (he might have been annoying, but he was still an officer), his sympathy was with poor Bates, first and foremost.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3 Taking Evidence

**Trial Without Error**

**by Soledad**

For disclaimer, rating, etc. see the Introduction.

**Author's notes:** Re: Bates' team. The names of the guys are from me. For the descriptions I frame-freezed the scene in one of the episodes where they were coming in hot and composed the team that way. The same is true for the Contol Room personnel, save Eddie Wong who's named after the actor who played him.

**Chapter 3 – Taking Evidence**

Sergeant Michael Eugene Bates had witnessed quite a few JAG trials during his career – he'd even given testimony at a few of them – so he thought he knew what to expect. After all, how different could _this_ one be?

As it turned out, he couldn't have been more mistaken.

It seemed that the experts who'd put the Atlantis Charta together had given special attention to legal matters. They particularly made sure that the court of Atlantis wouldn't simply follow American practice. There were, for example, no civilian jurymen to begin with, just the highly educated and trained lawyers and law clerks who'd been sent to the expedition. The authors of the Charta apparently hadn't wanted people who didn't have any experience with law enforcing to make eventually wrong decisions, based on emotions or on the rhetorics of the attorneys.

The courtroom – originally a large gathering place of unknown purpose – was very simple. There were only four tables, borrowed from the Mess Hall, as they didn't have proper desks for such occasions. In the middle, facing the entrance, sat Kirkitadze with his recording clerk, a lovely young Latino woman who happened to be one Gunnery Sergeant Galindez' four sisters. She'd been a paralegal law clerk back home and was also a fishing guide. That and his relation to the Gunny got her chosen for the expedition as Kirkitadze's aide.

Major Vogel, also wearing the traditional black robe instead of his dress uniform, sat with Dr. Weir – who was the private plaintiff, something that had been adopted from German legal practice – on Kirkitadze's right. As always, she looked spotless in her crème-coloured, elegant suit, and supremely collected. She was a seasoned diplomat, after all.

On the judge's left were two small tables. At one of those sat Bates himself with Petty Officer Tiner, who was wearing his dress uniform and looked about twelve again. At the other table sat Major Sheppard, also in dress blues – and without legal support, since he'd previously refused it.

Save from the Gate technicians on duty and a minimum of security guards, practically the entire Atlantis was present. Bates noticed his men sitting opposite him in the first row, building a united front against the rest of the world, looking grim and determined. McKinney's solid bulk seemed immobile like a rock; just his short-cropped black hair was bristling nervously. Rickman, who looked like some starving geek (but could fire a grenade launcher while running for his life), had a pained expression on his narrow face. His thinning hair was immaculately combed, as if looking respectable could help his commanding officer. Toussaint was completely unfazed, as always, but his hands were clenched into a tight fist, so that his knuckles stood out grey. Bosco Teague, called "Boss" among his fellow Marines, was sitting calmly, like some ebony Buddha (he was so dark-skinned that both Bates and Toussaint seemed pale in comparison), his clean-shaven skull gleaming in the artificial light.

Only Yamato didn't give any sign of nervousness, and Bates briefly envied the young man for it. Perhaps it was a Zen thing. Perhaps they'd all been wrong to laugh at Yamato's arcane techniques that included yoga and meditation on a daily basis.

Although not a constant member of Bates' team, Dr. Simpson sat next to the Marines, perhaps to provide moral support. Bates was a bit surprised by the presence of doctors Corrigan and Kavanagh while the members of Sheppard's team were absent, just like a great many other scientists and soldiers. But then he remembered that those would be heard as witnesses, so they couldn't be there just yet.

The first witness called by the court was Lieutenant Ford. He seemed extremely nervous, which was understandable, considering that he had to make testimony against his own commanding officer, and – what was even worse for him – against an experienced and highly respected Marine Sergeant whom he saw as a friend. Not that his testimony could really harm either Sheppard or Bates. He'd been trapped in the infected section of the city, waiting for his immediate and brutal death at the time when Major Sheppard started his personal little rebellion against civilian authority, but he knew the situation well enough to realize that he could say nigh to nothing in their defence.

Bates abruptly realized that he wasn't in Kansas anymore (figuratively speaking) when the court didn't immediately make Ford swear on the Bible in good old US-fashion. They simply reminded the young man that as a witness he had to tell the truth and that he had the right to refuse in answer if by answering would charge him or an immediate relative with any crime. They checked his personal data, too, and then Major Vogel started to ask his questions.

"Lieutenant Ford," he began, "can you give us an overall picture of the events? Be as specific as possible, please."

"Well, sir, a group of engineers was checking out one of the piers of Atlantis after the flooding caused by the hurricane," Ford replied.

"Which one?" Vogel asked, for the protocol, not because he wouldn't already know.

"Erm… the South Pier, sir," Ford said. "The corridors of that area were quite dark, so they al had torches, and doctors McKay and Zelenka had their laptops with them."

"Who else was in this particular group?" Vogel asked. Ford thought about that for a moment.

"Dr. Hays," he said, "Dr. Petersen and a rifle team of Marines, including myself. The other three were Sherman, Reed and Coffman. Another rifle team went with the other group, with doctors Johnson, Wagner and Dumais," He swallowed hard. All the scientists he'd mentioned, with the exception of McKay and Zelenka, were dead by now… and their death had been a shockingly swift one.

"All right," Vogel said, giving him a moment to collect himself. "Continue, please."

"The geeks… I mean, the scientists," Ford corrected himself hastily, "were done with the investigation. Dr. Weir contacted Dr. McKay to ask him about the status of that section, and Dr. McKay reported in that the pier was generally OK. So we were just about to meet Dr. Dumais' team when Dr. Zelenka noticed that doctors Wagner and Johnson were missing. So we went to look for them."

He hesitated for e moment before continuing, but that moment was enough for an experienced courtroom shark like Vogel to become suspicious.

"Lieutenant, what are you _not_ telling us?" he asked in a deceivingly friendly voice.

"It's… personal… and not important," Ford replied defensively.

"I'll be the judge of _that_," Sevarion Kirkitadze intervened calmly. "Answer the question, Lieutenant."

"Well," Ford seemed embarrassed, "Doctors McKay and Zelenka had been playing Prime/Not Prime, just for fun… what geeks see as fun anyway. They wanted me to participate, but I… I'm not as good at maths as they are, and they, well, made fun of me. Or so I thought anyway. I lost my temper and was… quite rude to Dr. Zelenka. And he… he seemed stunned, almost frightened, for some reason. And when we turned back to look for the missing people, Dr. Hays took me aside and promised me to break my nose, should I speak to Dr. Zelenka in that manner again."

For a moment, there was stunned silence in the courtroom. Only a man with a death wish would provoke a highly trained Marine that way.

"That's… suicidal," Teague commented from the first row, just loud enough for everyone to hear.

Major Vogel shook his head. "Not necessarily. Dr. Hays used to be a middle-weight boxing champion, and he still trained regularly in the gym. He was also a close friend of Dr. Zelenka's. I don't doubt that he could have broken Lieutenant Ford's nose, had he'd put his mind to it – or that he _would_ have done it, if sufficiently provoked. The man wasn't easily intimidated. All right, Lieutenant, continue."

"Shortly thereafter, we heard Dr. Wagner's voice through the radio," Ford said. "He sounded terrified."

"Be specific, Lieutenant," Vogel ordered. "What exactly _did_ Dr. Wagner say?"

"He asked for a back-up," Ford replied. "He told us _they_ were coming."

"_They_?" Vogel repeated. "Who were _they_?"

Ford shrugged. "I have no idea, sir. His visions… the same as the others had later, I guess. Fortunately, I never came to see them myself, or else I wouldn't be sitting here now."

"You're getting ahead of yourself, Lieutenant," Vogel reminded him. "Tell us about the next events. How did you find Dr. Wagner?"

"I asked Dr. Z… I mean, Dr. Zelenka, where the others might be. He checked his lifesigns detector and pointed out the way for us. We rushed down the corridor and found doctors Wagner and Johnson," Ford explained with military precision. "Dr. Wagner was lying on the floor and didn't move. Dr. Johnson was sitting on the floor, against the wall, with her legs drawn up and her head down on her knees. Dr. McKay hurried over to her and asked if she was OK."

"Was Dr. Wagner already dead at that time?" Kirkitadze asked, checking the security records that were running on his clerk's laptop.

Ford nodded. "Yes, sir. I checked his pulse myself – there wasn't one."

"Thank you, Lieutenant," Kirkitadze typed something on his own laptop. "Please, continue."

Ford obeyed. "Dr. Johnson was crying and told Dr. McKay that _they_ got him – I mean, Dr. Wagner. Then she began to scream hysterically, fighting something only she could see… and then she dropped to the floor and was dead."

"Just like that?" Vogel asked, raising an eyebrow. Ford nodded.

"Yes, sir. I couldn't see everything, of course, it was really dark there, and doctors Hays and Zelenka were handling her. But Dr. Z checked her pulse and said she was dead."

"How much later was this than Dr. Wagner's death?" Vogel asked.

"A couple of minutes, tops, sir," Ford replied. "Dr. McKay asked for a quarantine team then, and Dr. Z recommended a… a level four quarantine, I think."

"You _think_?" Vogel frowned.

Ford shrugged. "I'm not sure, sir. I don't know too much about medical emergencies, and frankly, I was scared. In any case, Dr. Beckett promised to get down a hazmat team to us and to inform Dr. Weir."

"Did Dr. Becker tell you to stay where you were?" Vogel asked.

Ford nodded. "Yes, sir. Dr. Petersen was against staying – everyone could see that he was scared sh… I mean, he was frightened very much, sir. He wanted to leave the group when Dr. McKay told us to follow him, but Private Coffman hindered him, so he came with us, in the end."

"Where were you going from there?" Vogel asked.

"Dr. McKay wanted to retract Johnson and Wagner's steps to figure out where and how they might got infected," Ford explained.

Vogel frowned again. "Why that?"

"I think he hoped that detecting the source would help Dr. B find a cure," Ford said vaguely. "Needless to say that Dr. Petersen disagreed very much, but it's practically impossible to stop McKay when he's on the roll. So we went back to the section doctors Johnson and Wagner had been exploring and found some kind of lab. Its door was half-open, we could barely squeeze ourselves through the opening."

"What do you mean with '_we_'?" Vogel interrupted.

Ford pulled a face, "Well, Dr. McKay refused to go in there alone, so I had to go with him. It was dark, and broken glass crunched under our feet. McKay had Dr. Z's torch and so we could see a long central table with some large glass jars standing on it. Several of them were broken, and that seemed to make McKay worried."

"Because he suspected that whatever killed doctors Johnson and Wagner must have come from those smashed containers?" Vogel asked.

Ford nodded. "Dr, Dumais and Dr. Z agreed with him. They discussed the lab and how it wasn't networked in with the rest of the Ancient systems… I didn't really understand all of it. It's hard to follow when McKay and Dr. Z start finishing each other's sentences."

That statement caused repressed amusement in the courtroom. McKay and Zelenka's famous, rapid-fire discussions, completely unfathomable for anyone else, had already become something of a legend in Atlantis. Highly educated scientists had a hard time to keep up with those two – how could a young officer with a simple college degree hope to do the same?

"I understand," Vogel, too, suppressed a smile. "What happened then?"

Ford swallowed hard. "Then… then Dr. Dumais began to scream and tried to brush something off Dr. Petersen. McKay and Dr, Z tried to pull her off. Then she clutched her head, moaned and began to convulse." He swallowed again. "There was blood coming from her nose, mouth and ears – and she became very still, all of a sudden. Dr. Z checked her pulse, then looked at McKay and shook his head. And that was when I realized that Dr. Petersen had slipped away while we'd been distracted."

Vogel asked a few more questions, but it became clear that Ford didn't know much about the events concerning the chasing of Dr. Petersen through that section. He'd been apparently preoccupied with his own imminent death. In a way, it was understandable. Marines were trained to fight visible enemies. Viruses that killed one through visions weren't exactly their field of expertise. Not even after all that Ford had already seen and experienced during his time with the SGC.

So Kirkitadze released Ford and called in the Marines who'd been assigned to the scientists, one after another. Not that the men could have told them anything new, as they weren't really involved into the whole interaction, having secured their respective teams from the rear all the time. But Kirkitadze was nothing if not thorough. He questioned Coffman, Reed, Sherman and the others, and only when he was assured that hey wouldn't be able to tell him anything of true importance, released them and called for Dr. Zelenka.

To everyone's surprise, Zelenka was wearing civilian clothes – a rather plain-looking brown suit with a blue shirt and a black tie – instead of his Atlantis uniform. He looked sombre but sufficiently collected. He confirmed Ford's testimony up to the point where they'd found Johnson and Wagner, but he could give more details about Johnson's death.

"When we got there, she was crying," he remembered. "She kept telling us _they got him_. Was speaking of Wagner, I think. Then she looked up and stared in terror over Rodney's… Dr. McKay's shoulder. Was looking directly at me but seeing something else, I guess. Then she scrambled to her feet and started to back away."

He closed his eyes for a moment, swallowing hard. Kirkitadze was watching him intently but didn't press. The man needed to get over his shock first. Finally, Zelenka opened his eyes again and continued in a strangely flat, even voice.

"Dr. Johnson was flailing at something only she could see. She screamed that _they_ were everywhere… tried to fight _them_ off. Paul," he swallowed convulsively by mentioning his now-dead best friend, "I mean Dr. Hays and I tried to calm her down, but it was no use. She kept fighting… until her legs buckled under her. Paul and I lowered her to floor. She clutched at head and screamed… and screamed, for seconds, and then… then she went limp. I brushed hair away from her face to see if she'd injured herself and put my fingers on her neck to find pulse. I couldn't. Blood was coming from her nose and mouth, just like by Wagner. She was gone." He paused and added sorrowfully, "She was young so very young. She had entire life before her. Is terrible loss for us all."

"Indeed it is," Major Vogel agreed. "I understand that it was you who recommended a Level Four quarantine?"

Zelenka nodded. "Is standard procedure during outbreak of unknown epidemics: contain infection till we know what we're dealing with. We all have been trained how to act in such situations."

"In Dr. Petersen's case that training seems to have been in vain," Sheppard commented sarcastically. Kirkitadze gave him a disapproving look.

"It's not your turn yet, Major Sheppard," he said. "You'll have the chance to question the witness later. Dr. Zelenka, do you want to add anything to this part of your testimony?"

"Yes, Your Honour," Zelenka answered. "Before anyone starts accusing Dr. Petersen for what's happened, I wish to remind everyone that Willem Petersen was good and decent man; and excellent scientist. It's true that he 'lost it' in dangerous situation, as Americans like to say. He acted like moron. But he was terrified… too terrified to think straight. Had Sergeant Bates not released the lock on gym, though, section would have remained cut off from power. That would have slowed Petersen's progress enough for him to die in some empty room alone, without spreading nanovirus and endangering many other people."

"Objection," Petty Officer Tiner said calmly. "Speculation from the side of the witness."

"No, Petty Officer," Zelenka answered; "is scientifically sound estimate."

"We're not trying to put the blame on anyone yet, Dr. Zelenka," Kirkitadze said. "We're just trying to check out all the facts. Please, continue; and tell us every detail you can remember. We don't know yet what might prove important."

Zelenka nodded and shared his personal memories about the finding of the ancient lab and Dr. Dumais' fast and brutal death.

"Have you found the database of the lab?" Vogel asked. Zelenka nodded.

"Yes, yes, yes. It was strange, though… it only contained information about experiments that took place in that particular lab Of course, we didn't have time to go through all the data; Dr. Beckett's team would be working on that for weeks to come. But at least we knew where Johnson and Wagner were infected… and incubation time could be calculated."

After this, he described Dr. Dumais' death in gruelling detail, and how they'd realized that Petersen was gone. As it turned out, although he _had_ been equipped with a headset, he hadn't heard much from the clash between Dr. Weir and Major Sheppard, simply because he hadn't been listening.

"I was going over the survey schedule," he explained. "Johnson and Wagner had originally started off on their own, and they crossed paths with Dumais an hour later. Accordingly, Dumais died an hour later than the other tow. And I realized that after meeting with Johnson and Wagner, Dumais met up with Hays… and Rodney. At the time I've figured out this, they've already had visions for about an hour."

"How did Dr. McKay react to this discovery?" Vogel asked.

"We're talking about _Rodney_, Major," Sheppard answered sarcastically before Zelenka could. "How, do you thin, he reacted? He was completely hysterical, of course."

"He was…_worried_," Zelenka corrected quietly, giving Sheppard a decidedly unfriendly look, "and he had good reason to be. After all, Dr. Hays died before our eyes, just as swiftly, only an hour after Dr. Dumais had. And there was absolutely nothing anyone could have done."

"I thought Dr. Beckett's team was working on the problem?" Petty Officer Tiner said.

"They were," Zelenka replied, "but they were running against time. A six-hour-incubation is very short one."

"Short indeed," Vogel nodded. "But do continue, Dr. Zelenka. What happened after Dr. Hays' death?"

Zelenka grinned unexpectedly. "Rodney was sharing last thoughts with us. Was very dramatic. Then he paused and looked around room, waiting for deadly visions to start. Then he turned around… slowly, very slowly…. Stared at ceiling… still nothing happened. And _that_ was how we realized that virus doesn't kill people with Ancient gene."

"Which wasn't much of a help for _you_, personally, though," Vogel added.

"_Ne_," Zelenka admitted. "At that time, both Lieutenant Ford and me had about an hour left – or less. I'm afraid we weren't much help for Rodney – or anyone else – during that time. _I_ certainly wasn't. All I could think of was clock, tickling down seconds in my head."

"That's understandable," Kirkitadze, not a gene carrier himself, nodded in compassion. "Can you tell us anything else of importance?"

"I don't believe so," Zelenka answered. "Dr. Beckett's people were bothering me with thermometers and heart monitors and other things, so half the time I didn't even wear my headset. And I was shaken," he added quietly. "Dr. Hays was a good friend of mine. Losing him so suddenly… was very hard for me."

"Losing a friend always is; especially here where there are so few of us," Kirkitadze said. Then he looked at Vogel and at Tiner. "Any more questions?"

"I have one," Sheppard said. "I'd like to know how Petersen managed to slip away from your group unnoticed."

Zelenka turned to him, and when he answered, his tone was sharp, and for the first time downright hostile.

"We were focusing on _problem_, Major," he said. "Keeping _people_ where they belong is _your_ job. Had _your_ men paid attention, poor Willem couldn't have slipped away. Had _you_ not disobeyed Dr. Weir's orders, Willem could never have reached Mess Hall. It's that simple, so don't you start directing blame at _us_."

Everyone was a bit taken aback by the ferocity of his answer – well, everyone save his fellow engineers who'd seen him stand up to an irate McKay regularly. Compared with _that_, John Sheppard was a belligerent tomcat.

"Ms Galindez, delete the last paragraph, including Major Sheppard's question," Kirkitadze instructed the law clerk. "Dr. Zelenka, thank you for your help. Please, take a seat among the spectators," he added dryly. "The court will hear Teyla now, daughter of Tagan, from the local Athosian tribe."

"Her full name is Teyla Emmagan, Your Honour," Sheppard supplied helpfully. Kirkitadze gave him a long-suffering look.

"Major Sheppard," he said patiently, "could it possibly have escaped your notice that _Emmagan_ is a _title_ among the Athosians – and the title of the tribal leader at that – not a surname?"

"She still has the right to be addressed with that name," Sheppard, who was, of course, well aware aforementioned fact, said stubbornly. "She's still the leader of the Athosians."

"That's not exactly correct," Kirkitadze replied. "_You_ prefer to introduce her to other people using a title she's not entitled to wear any longer."

"She's not… _what_?" Sheppard frowned. Kirkitadze raised an eyebrow.

"She's no longer the leader of her tribe," he explained. "Halling is _the_ Emmagan; has been ever since the others followed him to the mainland. You want to make me believe that you haven't known _that_?"

Sheppard shrugged. "We never talk about such things," he said uncomfortably.

"It seems that your inability to listen to other people is extended to many areas of your life, Major," Vogel said pointedly.

"None of which is your business," Sheppard riposted, "_Major_."

"In this particular case and in this particular area, actually, it is," Vogel replied calmly. Then he looked at Galindez who was standing at the door. "Gunny, call the witness in."

"I was teaching Major Sheppard the use of fighting sticks," Teyla said, aiming her serene smile at Major Vogel. "We have been training every day since he began to learn this art. He could be really good at it – given enough time – but he is not practicing enough."

"That doesn't have anything to do with what we're discussing here," Sheppard interrupted. "Besides, I wouldn't have a rat's chance against her anyway."

"That is probably true," Teyla agreed placidly. "In any case, we have just finished our training when Dr. Weir announced the self-regulated quarantine and ordered everyone to stay where they were."

"How did Major Sheppard react?" Vogel asked.

"He was… impatient," Teyla replied slowly. "He had not brought his radio, so he took mine and started arguing with Dr. Weir. He wanted to go to the Control Room, at any costs. He did not like it that Dr. Weir had consulted Sergeant Bates about the situation instead of him because he had been off radio. But for the time being he agreed to stay in the gym until further notice."

Kirkitadze leaned forward in his chair. "When did he change his mind?"

"When he heard that Dr. Petersen had escaped and was on his way to the Control Room," Teyla answered. "He wanted us to get out of the gym and stop Dr. Petersen, even though Dr. Weir was against it. He decided that _he_ had to protect Dr. Weir from being effected."

"Did Dr. Weir unmistakably forbid him to leave the gym?" Vogel asked.

"Yes," Teyla said. "Dr. Weir asked Dr. Grodin to seal the gym; which he did. But Major Sheppard ordered Sergeant Bates to unlock the doors."

"Did Dr. Weir order _Sergeant Bates_ to stand down?" Vogel continued.

Teyla nodded. "Yes. I could hear it clearly through the radio. A few seconds later, though, the doors opened."

Tiner raised a hand. "So you can't directly confirm that it was Sergeant Bates who'd opened the doors, am I correct?"

"I have not _seen_ him doing it, if that is what you are asking," Teyla answered precisely. "But at the same time, I heard him apologize to Dr. Weir, who said that it did not really matter anymore, since it was already done."

"Bates just carried out his orders," Sheppard said impatiently.

"That might be so," Teyla replied, "but you had no right to undermine Dr. Weir's authority in front of Sergeant Bates. I have told you so much then, but you were not listening. Unfortunately, you are rarely willing to do so, Major."

"My place in the chain of command is above Bates, and I can order him to do whatever I find has to be done," Sheppard snapped.

"Perhaps," Teyla said, "but you do not stand above Dr. Weir. You had no right to force Sergeant Bates to act against _her_ orders. Or else we would not have this trial right now."

Sheppard seemed as if he'd give a sharp answer at that, but Kirkitadze was faster.

"Where did you go when the gym doors opened?" he asked.

"To the medical lab, to put on hazmat suits," Teyla said. "Then Major Sheppard asked Dr. Weir about Dr. Petersen's location."

"Did she give him the information?"

"Not at once – she was probably really angry, and rightly so – but she did. We headed out to find Dr. Petersen then."

"Did you find him?" Vogel asked. Teyla nodded.

"Yes. Major Sheppard tried to reason with him, but Dr. Petersen was clearly not thinking straight. He promised to go back to the medlab, but when he saw an open transporter, he ran for it. Major Sheppard fired at him with the P90, repeatedly, but could not stop him, although he was injured. We learned later that he transported into the Mess Hall. When we tried to follow him, a citywide alarm started to sound, and the transporters would not work. The city had already taken over and locked down the infected areas. Fortunately, the doors were still opening for _us_, since we were wearing the hazmat suits."

"Where did you go from there," Vogel asked.

"To the Mess Hall," Teyla replied. "It was my suggestion, actually. I thought people there would be very scared and confused. When we arrived there, Dr. Petersen was already dead, and people panicked. I stayed with them and tried to calm them down, while Major Sheppard was called away by Dr. McKay."

There were several more questions, but Teyla couldn't tell anything else that would be related to Bates and Sheppard's case. So he was released, and Kirkitadze announced that he would now question the personnel of the Control Room."

The first person called in was Peter Grodin. The normally so calm and friendly scientist seemed still incredibly angry at both Sheppard and Bates. So angry, in fact, that it took him considerable effort to remain civil. It was an understandable reaction. As the Technical Director of Atlantis, Grodin was Dr. Weir's right-hand-man and confidant in all practical matters; just as Kirkitadze was her aide in legal matters. Together with the head of the science department, the chief of the medical department and the highest-ranking military officer, they were the governing body of Atlantis. The chief of security stood only one step lower in the chain of command. As a civilian member of the ruling body, Grodin was entitled to be angry about Bates and Sheppard's actions.

"It's a known fact that the Ancients suffered from a plague," he explained, after having confirmed Ford and Zelenka's testimony about the initiation of the Level Four quarantine. The medical department of the SGC had a very… unpleasant encounter with the virus two years ago, when they found that frozen Ancient woman in Antarctica – and they were absolutely helpless against it. So yes, I agreed with Dr. McKay and Dr. Zelenka that if their team had somehow stumbled upon it and become infected, we needed to take every precaution to prevent an outbreak. Even if it meant sacrificing the people on the South Pier. Otherwise we'd have risked a citywide infection and the death of _everyone_ in Atlantis."

"I assume Major Sheppard didn't agree with that," Kirkitadze said.

Grodin shrugged. "He wanted someone to go to the gym and get him a hazmat suit. Dr. Weir explained him that everyone in hazmat was busy configuring the lab to deal with the virus and to prevent an outbreak. It seemed at that moment that the major actually _might_ listen, this time. Unfortunately, that didn't last long."

"Please, elaborate," Kirkitadze said.

"Dr. Weir and Sergeant Bates were following Dr. Petersen's movements via lifesigns detector," Grodin explained. "They realized that he was trying to make his way back to the Control Room. In the meantime, I was locking all the doors in the hallway and killing power to the entire section."

"Could that have stopped Dr. Petersen?" Vogel asked.

Grodin shook his head. "Ultimately? No. As Dr. McKay admitted himself, Petersen was an excellent engineer who knew almost as much about Ancient technology as Rodney did. But if we could have kept the transporters offline, it had bought us enough time to trap him somewhere on his way, instead of allowing him to stumble into a room full of people – like the Mess Hall."

"Rodney said all you'd have been able to do was slowing him down," Sheppard said, his annoyance evident.

"That is, sadly, quite true," Grodin agreed. "But that would have been enough for a security team to reach him. I was almost done with limiting the door controls."

"That wasn't good enough!" Sheppard interrupted. "Someone needed to go out there and stop him."

"And you think you were the only one capable of doing that," Grodin said sarcastically. "Well, Major, let me tell you that we'd already had two security teams moving in on Petersen's position – both of them considerably closer than you. Without your little riot act, we could have contained the situation before Petersen reached the Control Room."

"You can't be sure of _that_!" Sheppard declared.

"Perhaps," Grodin said coldly. "But I can be sure in another thing: that your selfish and stupid action endangered the entire city."

"Ms Galindez, delete the last paragraph," Kirkitadze ordered. "Dr. Grodin, please try to control yourself. We need a testimony here, no private accusations. That's Major Vogel's job, not yours."

"I'm sorry," Grodin restrained himself with visible effort.

"I understand that you were a direct witness of what happened in the Control Room?" Petty Officer Tiner asked.

Grodin nodded. "Yes. I was near Dr. Weir, rearranging the crystal plates in the console controlling the hallway doors. Dr. Weir and Major Sheppard were arguing – the major wanted out of the gym to hunt Dr. Petersen down personally. He wasn't listening, so Dr. Weir ordered me to seal the gym."

"Did you?" Vogel asked.

"Of course," Grodin replied. "We all knew Major Sheppard's… _spontaneous_ nature by then," he added wryly. "Precautions were in order. Of course, we couldn't take into consideration that Sergeant Bates would turn against the colony leader in favour of his commanding officer."

"Sergeant Bates only followed orders," Tiner said.

Grodin rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Don't give me that crap, Petty Officer! I'm not a soldier, but even I know that if an officer acts against the expressed wishes of the civilian government he's sworn to serve, his underlings aren't supposed to follow his orders – or else we could declare this a military dictature and be done with playing democracy."

"You're exaggerating Dr. Grodin," Tiner said. "I don't think that Major Sheppard was planning to take over Atlantis."

"Of course not," Grodin agreed. "He just thought he knew everything better than others and wasn't willing to wait until people who were better suited to deal with a _medical_ situation did their jobs. He undermined the authority of the civilian leadership, which would have been a dangerous example, even if he'd been right. Which he was _not_."

"Well, that doesn't change the fact that I've saved your collective asses in the end," Sheppard said.

"You haven't done anything a half-decent pilot couldn't have done," Grodin riposted. "It was your fault that Petersen escaped via transporter into the Mess Hall, where the pathogen was almost instantly detected by the automated systems, and the city initiated a lockdown. Without us being locked out of the Atlantis mainframe, people in hazmat suits could have dragged an EMP generator down to the South Pier – as the transporters would work for _them_ – and destroy the nanovirus in the system of the infected people right there. Which _also_ means that we wouldn't have to blow up a _naquadah_ generator to achieve the same result, cutting our power supply even shorter. So no, Major, I truly cannot see any reason for you to be so proud of yourself."

That shut Sheppard up, at least for the time being. Kirkitadze asked a few more questions about the failed effort with the EMP generator and the final solution, and then he released Grodin.

Next, the court heard the testimonies of the Control Room personnel on duty during the crisis. Technician Mette-Marit Sorenson, Sergeant Jenny Hagiwara, Tobias Moretti and Eddie Wong confirmed Grodin's testimony about the conflict between Sheppard, Bates and Dr. Weir, but had little to add. So, having dealt with that end of the chain, Kirkitadze could finally turn to the major players and called Dr. Carolyn Biro first.

The chief pathologist of Atlantis – a thin, blonde woman in her forties – was an almost disturbingly cheerful person, considering her main job (she was also the resident xenobiologist, who enjoyed a great deal to examine dead alien life). Actually, she was the _only_ professional pathologist of the expedition, although the other medical doctors were also capable of performing autopsies, of course. Dr. Biro seemed to like her work very much, and while she did have the tendency to babble when excited about some morbidly fascinating discovery, she could give very accurate reports about said discoveries.

"Al victims died of a ruptured secular brain aneurysm," she explained matter-of-factly, "which, in itself, wouldn't be all that remarkable – despite the statistical improbability, of course. The truly interesting part was that all those ruptures happened in exactly the same place: right above the visual cortex."

"Which caused the identical visions, I understand?" Vogel asked.

Dr. Biro nodded. "Yes. And that fact made Carson… I mean, Dr. Beckett… and Dr. McKay realise that we were dealing with a nanovirus, manufactured to kill humans."

That was all she could tell, having been too busy with all the autopsies to care what was going on anywhere else, so Kirkitadze released her and called Dr. Beckett.

The head physician of Atlantis looked very, very tired – and vaguely guilty, which, in Bates' opinion, made no sense. There was nothing Dr. Beckett could have done against a nanovirus that had spread so fast and killed so quickly. There simply hadn't been enough time for medical counter-measures. But again, Bates knew the good doctor well enough to realize that for Beckett, _every_ death on his watch was his fault. It was probably a doctor thing… as long as the doctor in question was a civilian. Medical officers, like the late Dr. Fraiser at SGC tended to see things more realistically.

Dr. Beckett told the court basically the same things the others had before – just with more details in that obscure medical jargon only his own staff would be able to understand.

"Rodney… Dr. McKay asked for a containment team after Wagner and Johnson had died," he explained. "Radek… Dr. Zelenka recommended a Level Four quarantine until we knew what we were dealin' with. My team and I got to the hazmat gear and headed down to the South Pier. Unfortunately, it took some time to load the whole team into suits, so when we finally got down there, Rodney had found the Ancient viral lab… and Dr. Dumais was already dead."

He paused unhappily, very obviously blaming himself for being late. Dr. Weir sighed and shook her head. Knowing Carson, it would take time for him to get over the most recent tragedy. And he'd just begun to recover from the trauma the events on Hoff had given him…

Kirkitadze must have thought the same because he spoke to Beckett in a calm, reassuring manner.

"Dr. Beckett, was there any way you could have gotten down to the South Pier any faster?" he asked. Beckett shook his head.

"I dinnae think so. You need to be careful with hazmat suits. They're easily torn, as poor Teyla had to learn the hard way."

"Assuming you _had_ reached the South Pier, say, half an hour earlier, would that have made any difference?" Kirkitadze continued. Again, Beckett shook his head mutely. The lawyer shrugged. "In that case, I don't see why you should blame yourself for the outcome. So please, go on and tell us what you and your staff did after reaching the pier."

"I had them set up a small field station near the viral lab," Beckett answered. "Dr. Biro started the autopsies, while the others checked the vitals of the infected people in the adjoining room."

"Did you hear anything of what was happening in the Control Room?" Kirkitadze asked.

"Nay," Beckett said. "I was on a permanent connection with Dr. Biro, exclusively. Plus, Rodney had called me back to the Ancient lab. He found the description of a virus in the Ancient database – it seemed like the one we were dealin' with. The symptoms were exactly the same. Six hour hibernation, recurrin' visions and brain haemorrhage or aneurysms."

"But you were not yet aware of the fact that it was a nanovirus, were you?" Kirkitadze asked. Beckett shook his head.

"Nay, we still thought we were fightin' a living organism. Then Rodney started havin' visions, and it turned out Dr. Hays had been havin' them for an hour, too, and we realized they were next – and everyone panicked a wee bit."

"Could you do anything for them?" Vogel inquired. Beckett shrugged.

"Well, we hooked them up to heart and blood pressure monitors, but as Rodney pointed out, it couldn't really help them. The best we could hope for was to collect s many data as possible – for the _other_ people's sake."

He paused again, guilt and incurable grief written clearly in his kind, open face. No one dared to urge him to continue.

"This is the worst thing that could happen to a healer," he finally whispered. "To watch people die, knowin' he cannae do a thing to help. When it started with Dr. Hays… it was so… so _fast_, and to see the terror in his eyes… and just stand there, watchin', completely helpless…"

"I'm told you didn't just _stand_ there, doctor," Vogel corrected. "You were administering CPR when his heart stopped, weren't you?"

Beckett shrugged wearily. "ER reflexes are hard to break…. Comes with the field. But Rodney was right. It was pointless. It wasn't his heart."

He recalled McKay's "last words" in the same manner as Zelenka had done, and then described the discovery that the pathogen was a nanovirus and that it only killed humans _without_ the ATA gene in minute detail.

"Can you tell us what exactly a nanovirus is?" Vogel asked. "Preferably in terms that we might actually understand?"

Becker nodded. "Aye. It's an artificial virus c created by the use of nanotechnology. Nanites are, basically, microscopic machines, programmed to carry out very specific tasks suited for their size. Usually, they're no bigger than a single-celled organism and have a sole purpose, like curing a disease or mending a blood vessel. In theory, anyway. Our own research in this area is still in a very early phase."

"_Those_ nanites, though, were fairly advanced, weren't they?" Vogel asked.

"Aye, that they were," Beckett agreed. "And they were programmed to terrorize the victims by tapping into their visual cortex and then rupturing an artery in their brain."

"How many of those nanites are necessary to kill a human?" Kirkitadze asked.

"I haven't the faintest idea," Beckett admitted. "This technology is so far beyond us I cannae even make an educated guess. At least they're unable to multiply; and that is a good thing."

"So, theoretically, they'd have spread themselves too thin to do any more harm, given enough time?" Kirkitadze tried to clarify. Beckett nodded.

"Aye, that would be a possibility – in _theory_," he said. "I'm just afraid there wouldnae be anyone left to confirm the results."

"Did you find out who created the virus in the first place?" Kirkitadze asked. Beckett shook his head.

"Not yet, But we're gonna studyin' the database in the next weeks. Maybe we can find somethin' eventually."

"I see." Kirkitadze looked at the attorneys. "Any more questions?"

Both Tiner and Vogel shook their heads. Sheppard, however, turned to Beckett.

"Doc, if the Ancient gene would protect people from this virus, why didn't you just start giving gene shots everyone?"

"Because it wouldnae help them!" Beckett snapped, reaching the end of his patience. "It takes a minimum of four hours for the gene to become active, and people down there didnae _have_ four hours! Besides, the therapy is only effective in forty-eight per cent of the recipients – it didnae take by Radek _or_ by Hays – and we could see that only an active gene means protection. Or else Hays, Dumais and the others wouldnae be _dead_ now."

"We all understand the problem, Dr. Beckett," Kirkitadze said, shooting Sheppard a warning look. "Is there anything else you'd like to add?" Beckett shook his head tiredly. "Very well. You're released. Please, be seated somewhere. The court will hear Dr. McKay now."

Although he had barely anything new to tell, Rodney McKay's testimony turned out the longest – and, to be honest, the most entertaining – of all witnesses. He gave an _extremely_ detailed report of the events from his unique point of view, generously peppered with technobabble only Dr. Zelenka – and partially Dr. Grodin – was likely to understand. He explained the specifics behind the first attempt with the EMP generator, comparing it with another failed attempt two years earlier at the SGC, and he listed up many arguments why the attempt was a good idea, despite the failure, in both cases.

He was also practically the only person who could say anything in Sheppard's defence, stating that Petersen _had_ to be stopped, and that Grodin's efforts to lock the man our might not have been enough. Which didn't mean, however, that it had to be Sheppard, transporting over from the opposite side of the city, to hunt the man down, he added pointedly. Finally, he calculated for Kirkitadze what the loss of a _naquadah_ generator could mean, considering the already existing power shortage. It wasn't an optimistic estimate, even for Rodney, who generally tended to expect the worst, in any given situation.

When he finally collapsed on a chair, everyone was a bit glassy-eyed in the courtroom. Even Kirkitadze blinked several time, perhaps to clear his mind from the information overload, and then he turned to the left, where the defendants were sitting.

"Major Sheppard, Sergeant Bates," he said. "You've heard the testimony of the witnesses. Do you still believe that you've done the right thing?"

"We've done the only _possible_ thing to save the city," Sheppard answered promptly. "In a similar situation, I'd do the same thing."

"I have little doubt about _that_," Kirkitadze replied dryly. "Bud do you believe it was really your decision to make? Don't you think you should have listened to Dr. Weir?"

Sheppard shrugged. "She tends to make a decision early and gets locked into it. That's her problem."

Dr. Weir's face revealed nothing, but her eyes grew ice cold at that. She mentally abandoned all hope that she might still save a working relationship with Sheppard.

"I see," Kirkitadze said neutrally. "What about you, Sergeant Bates? Do you also think that you've acted correctly when you opted to follow Major Sheppard's orders instead of Dr. Weir's?"

For a long time, Bates didn't reply, clearly struggling with himself.

"No," he finally said in a heavy voice. "I've reacted instinctively… and I made a mistake. A mistake that could have killed all those people in the Mess Hall. I had no right to override Dr. Weir's orders on the Major's behalf. I _thought_ back then that I was doing the right thing. I have come to understand that I was wrong."

He could see the disbelief and hurt on Sheppard's face, and he felt like shit by it. But he knew he couldn't have answered differently. Truth was truth, after all.

TBC


	4. Chapter 4 Consequences

**Trial Without Error**

**by Soledad**

For disclaimer, rating, etc. see the Introduction.

**Author's notes:** Annalisa Lindstrom is a character borrowed from the first season of "Pensacola". The personal backgrounds of Markham and Stackhouse are made up by me and used basically in the same form in all my stories. Coffman and Reed are canon characters, mentioned in "Runner". In this AU, Major Lorne already came to Atlantis with the original expedition.

**Chapter 4 – Consequences**

After that, the hearing was adjourned until the next day. Sheppard and Bates were escorted back to their quarters where they were still confined to. The city itself, however, was buzzing with excitement over the fact that Bates had openly turned against his commanding officer. Understandably enough, some Marines had problems with that and went to Bates' team for answers.

"He didn't turn _against_ Sheppard," Teague declared, staring daggers at Coffman and Reed. "He just told the frigging _truth_, ya know?"

"Besides," Lt. Annalisa Lindstrom, also known as 'Stinger', an ace pilot and the only other Danish member of the expedition save the late Dr. Petersen, added, "he couldn't really deny what he'd done. Four Control room technicians _and_ Dr. Grodin heard and saw the whole thing first-hand – not to mention Dr. Weir herself."

"Still," Coffman insisted, "a Marine shouldn't side with the civilians against his comrades."

Lt. Lindstrom raised a sarcastic eyebrow. "His _comrades_? I thought Air Force pilots – or _any_ pilots at all – were worse than vermin in the eyes of a self-respecting Marine."

"You shouldn't believe all that crap about us, Lieutenant," Staff Sergeant Adam Stackhouse pulled out a chair and sat down to their table. "Most of 'em are evil rumours, created and spread by Air Force pilots."

That broke the tension, and Coffman, who happened to be on Stackhouse's team, wisely shut up. Stacks was a fair and easy-going team leader, but one thing could bring out his worst side: if someone picked on a fellow soldier behind said person's back. And every Marine who's had the questionable pleasure to be trained by the late Master Sergeant Derek Stackhouse knew that the worst side of the Stackhouse men – be it Derek Sr, Derek Jr. or Adam – was _not_ a place where anyone wanted to be.

Lt. Lindstrom had heard those rumours, too, but seeing the fresh-faced young Staff Sergeant, he had a hard time to believe them. Stacks was still on this side of thirty and looked even less, despite the irregular grey specks on his temples that hinted of untold stories, none of them pleasant.

"Where's your shadow today?" she asked, as it was unusual to see Stackhouse without Markham. The two had been best friends, if not since the sandbox, at least since twelve years or more, and somehow managed to get stationed on the same place, most of that time.

Stackhouse shrugged. "Anais has come visiting from the mainland when Dr. Z and Marta returned. She and Jamie needed some quality time alone."

Lt. Lindstrom grinned, seeing the slightly uncomfortable expressions of the other Marines. Like Scandinavians in general, she had a much more relaxed attitude towards… _alternate_ lifestyles than Americans generally had, and the idea of Athosian clan marriages didn't bother her a bit. To be fair to the Marines, it didn't bother them much, either – as long as the practice remained strictly among the Athosians. When Dr. Zelenka had married Marta (and who knows whom else in the process), that had been a little harder to digest. But when Stackhouse and Markham had gone and married the same woman – a slim, trim Athosian huntress with the appearance of a local Joan D'Arc – the foundations of the universe had been shaken for them, and there were still in the process of trying to deal with it.

"And they opted you out?" Reed asked, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

The fact that he was _not_ on Stackhouse's team explained the idiocy of asking such a question – well, actually, _any_ question at all – about the Staff Sergeant's private life. Coffman winced a bit, but the expected temper tantrum never came. Stackhouse simply shrugged again.

"My turn will come," he said, as if it were the most natural thing to share a wife with one's best friend. Which, from the Athosian point of view, _was_ a natural thing. Clan marriages were their way to ensure that children grew up in a family, even if the Wraith took the one or other parent. And with Atlantis' statistical imbalance between male and female inhabitants, given enough time, the colonists wouldn't have many other choices than to follow the Athosian example… or perish within two generations.

Stackhouse apparently considered the topic closed because he turned to Lt. Lindstrom, who happened to be on Major Vogel's team.

"Lieutenant, do you believe that Gene has a chance to keep his team after this?" he asked; which was a not all too subtle attempt to as whether Lindstrom had heard something from her CO or not.

The deceivingly slim, blonde woman shrugged.

"I'm not sure what to expect," she said. "My CO is the legal expert, not me. But I suspect he brass are going to make an example, so that the military knows next time whom they – _we_ – ought to listen to."

"Which means that Bates will lose his team while Major Sheephead will be allowed to keep his," Rickman commented bitterly, his taut face dark. "To teach the grunts whom to obey."

"Watch your tongue, Alan," McKinney warned him. "I'd hate to report you, but with so many witnesses, I'll have to, if you keep talkin' like that."

Rickman shut up. In Bates' absence, Zeke McKinney was the ranking NCO in the team – a staff sergeant like Stackhouse, while Rickman was just a sergeant – so the others did what he told them to do.

"Perhaps they're gonna promote _you_ to team leader," Stackhouse said to McKinney. The older, heavy-set staff sergeant pulled a face.

"God, I hope not!" he said honestly. "The last thing I wanna do is trying to fill the Master Sergeant's boots."

"Better you than some outsider," Teague commented.

"Somehow, I doubt that the brass are gonna ask _us_ what we want," McKinney replied grimly.

_That_ was something everyone agreed with. Even Annalisa Lindstrom, despite being a commissioned officer.

The announcement of the court was appointed for 1600 hours, local time. As on the day before, everyone but a skeleton duty crew gathered in the courtroom. The low buss filling the room died down in the moment when Kirkitadze entered, in the company of Dr. Weir and Major Vogel. Bates felt his stomach shrink to the size of a dried lemon from nervous anticipation as he rose from his place next to Petty Officer Tiner.

"Be seated, please, ladies and gentleman," Kirkitadze said. "We have discussed the testimony of the witnesses with Dr. Weir, and we asked the opinion of Dr. McKay, Dr. Grodin and Dr. Beckett as well, since they are the heads of the major science departments. Considering all facts carefully, this court came to the decision that both Major Sheppard and Master Sergeant Bates are guilty in insubordination towards the highest civilian authority. Major Sheppard has the additional responsibility for motivating a subordinate to aforementioned insubordination. This is not a court-martial – we don't have enough ranking officers in Atlantis for that – so we can't demote either of them. But it is the opinion of this court that they shouldn't have any position in the governing structure of Atlantis, as they are apparently not capable of obeying the orders of the civilian authorities."

The shocked disbelief on Sheppard's face clearly revealed that he'd actually hoped to get away with his cowboy actions unscathed. Bates had known better – non-coms were usually handled a lot harder and thus had fewer illusions – and was almost glad that it was over. He'd made a mistake. Now he'd have to prove himself again. But he was a tough guy. He could live with that.

"So, what are you gonna do with us?" Sheppard asked in a demanding voice. "Load us off to the mainland to bother Halling in the future or exile us on some barren planet?"

"I'm afraid it wouldn't be half as dramatic," Kirkitadze replied simply. "But changes in the command structure are Dr. Weir's prerogative. Perhaps you should all listen to her."

Therese Weir rose from her place on Major Vogel's side.

"As you all know, we have two other commissioned officers in the rank of a major who can take over the duties of the military commander in Atlantis," she began. "You'll understand if I'm a bit… wary towards American military at the moment. So I intend to ask Major Vogel to accept the responsibility."

Ralph Vogel's surprise was unmistakable. There could be no doubt that he hadn't known about this before.

"Are you sure that this is a good idea, Dr. Weir?" he asked. "I'm not only a _Bundeswehr_ pilot, which is, I'm sure, every bit as bad as if I were in the Air Force, I'm also a foreigner. The majority of the military contingent are Americans."

"Which is exactly why I'm asking you," Dr. Weir said. "I've never had any reason to question Major Lorne's loyalty… but again, I used to believe the same thing about Sergeant Bates, until yesterday. Right now, I'd prefer someone in the highest military position who _is_ a foreigner."

"Because I'm less likely to side with the military out of reflex?" Major Vogel asked.

"Yes," Dr. Weir replied bluntly. "It depresses me a great deal that I even have to consider the possibility of another riot like the one yesterday. But for the sake of Atlantis and all people who live here, I have to lessen that risk as much as I can. I hope you understand my reasoning, Major."

"I do," Vogel said, "And I accept the responsibility. I'd like you to consider the possibility of switching the office between me and Major Lorne, though. Perhaps at the end of every year, or on a bi-annual basis."

"That's an idea worth considering," Dr. Weir agreed. "I'll think about it."

"In that case, I'm ready," Vogel said. "What about Major Sheppard's team, though? Will he be allowed to keep it? I can't command two teams _and_ coordinate all military actions at the same time. Besides, Major Sheppard is still our best pilot, with the strongest ATA gene and vast experience in black ops. We still need him."

"That's true," Dr. Weir said. "And I don't intend to take him off the team. I intend to change the structure of the team, however. I'll take Lieutenant Ford off the team and replace him with Gunnery Sergeant Galindez," she glanced at Galindez who, once again, was standing at the courtroom doors. "Gunny, I was told that you're used to work with… _complicated_ officers. I hope you'll fit in with our best team… and manage to keep Major Sheppard out of trouble."

"I'll do my best, ma'am," Galindez replied in a manner that revealed his confidence in his own ability to do so.

"And what will become of me?" Ford asked, very disappointed to have to leave his team.

"You'll be taking command of Sergeant Bates' team," Dr. Weir answered. "They're not a scout team, so their numbers are not limited. Even with you, they still won't make up a full squad."

"Which means, they don't _need_ a lieutenant to lead them," Ford argued. "A squad can be led by a Corporal or a Sergeant."

"This is not a question of USMC, Lieutenant," Dr. Weir said. "I need an officer in command of our surveillance team; someone whom I can trust one hundred per cent. I believe you _are_ that officer. Am I mistaken?"

Aiden Ford shook his head unhappily. "No, ma'am, you're not. You _can_ trust me. It's just… uncomfortable for me."

"Good," Dr. Weir said. "I'd be worried if you _weren't_ uncomfortable with the situation. But you've served with Sergeant Bates before; you'll manage. That's what you were trained for, isn't it?"

"Yes, ma'am," Ford replied with an obvious lack of enthusiasm and glanced at Bates apologetically. "I'm really sorry, Gene."

"Not your fault, Lieutenant," Bates replied stoically. He was relieved. Ford was a good kid. A bit still green around the ears, but an excellent demolitions expert and willing to learn. McKinney would be able to support him. The team would be in good hands.

"Excuse me, ma'am," he heard Ford asking, "but what will become of Gene now?"

"He remains on his team, of course," Dr. Weir answered. "His experience is of great value, and his talents are needed. He'll be your second-in-command, your support and relief – but the decisions would be yours, in everything. I'm putting a lot of faith in you, Lieutenant – do not disappoint me."

"I won't, ma'am," Ford promised. "I only hope you're not planning to make me chief of station security as well. That would be a bit much to shoulder for someone like me."

Dr. Weir smiled. "Don't worry, Lieutenant. Dr. Kirkitadze and I have decided to make Mr. Naseband's status as chief of security a permanent one. He's got enough practice in that kind of work. Plus, that way we can separate station security and the military, which, in our opinion, is a good thing."

"But will he have enough people when the Marines aren't part of the security anymore?" Ford asked.

Naseband grinned. "We have five former detectives to deal with daily business," he said. "Considering the level of criminality in this city, I think we'll manage. As for the bigger issues… I happen to have a good link to the new military commander of Atlantis. He might be willing to lend me a few soldiers if needed."

"That could be arranged," Vogel grinned back at him.

"See what you've done?" Grodin commented with an _almost_ convincing eye roll. "You give them a bit of power, and they promptly start the Great German Conspiracy. Next they'll demand that we all speak German, too."

"That won't be a problem," Dr. Weir replied, completely unfazed. "I speak German fluently, and so does Dr. Kirkitadze. Your German isn't that bad, either, if I'm not mistaken. And Rodney can always ask Dr. Zelenka to translate for him."

"I wish someone would translate when Rodney and Radek are talking to _each other,_" Grodin murmured, but his dark eyes were laughing. Despite the recent tragic events, life was slowly returning to normal, and a bit silliness felt unexpectedly good. Having dealt with the disciplinary matters, unpleasant though the process itself might have been, helped everyone to push things back into the right perspective.

"All right," Dr. Weir said, "it seems we've settled things for the time being. Let's hope that we won't have to repeat this any time soon."

"Preferably never," Major Vogel added.

"I'd prefer that, too," Theresa Weir admitted. "But we should be realistic, Major. Nobody is perfect. We're lost in a foreign galaxy, living in a dangerous situation under less than ideal circumstances – we're prone to making mistakes. As you Germans say so eloquently, _wo es Menschen gibt, da menschelt es_. We can only hope that we're going to deal with the problems that might occur in the future with causing as little damage as possible."

"Your word in God's ear," Ralph Vogel replied, shaking off his black robe and throwing it over the back of his seat. He was wearing his dress uniform underneath. "If you don't need me anymore, I'd like to change back into more sensible clothes."

"Save an emergency, no, I don't," Dr. Weir gave him a curious look. "You've got plans for the evening?"

"No previous arrangements," Vogel laughed, although it sounded a bit forced. "I just need a little time to digest my sudden and unexpected promotion. Have a beer with my _Kameraden_; get over the shock… that sort of thing."

"How about _you_ getting over the shock?" Annalisa Lindstrom asked Aiden Ford half an hour later jokingly.

They were sitting in Annalisa's quarters, and the Danish lieutenant had already sacrificed a small bottle of precious _aquavit_ to build up a little Aiden's self-confidence. A _very_ small bottle only – after all, aquavit was a piece of home for her – but friendship did have its price sometimes. As a result, they were both a little tipsy, which resulted in a gloomy mood by Aiden and in an increasing tendency to giggle by Annalisa.

"I hate this," Ford admitted. "Gene is a good man, Lisa. He's just a bit paranoid, and a stickler to the rules. He knows more about command and leadership than I'll ever be able to learn. How am I supposed to give _him_ orders? Or McKinney, or Richman, or any of the others? _Everyone_ in that team is an experienced veteran, even Smithy."

"So are you," Lindstrom pointed out. "You've had dozens of off-world missions with the SGC. And you're an ace in your own field, so why do you fret so much?"

"You don't understand," Ford declared dramatically. "Everything that's useful during an off-world mission, I've learned from Gene and the others. They're _good_, Lisa. They've never lost anyone off-world. No other team at SGC can say _that_ about themselves."

"So you'll get the chance to learn even more from them," Lindstrom said reasonably. "Just don't boss them around more than necessary – but don't let them get away with anything, either. That will earn their respect, and you'll arrange yourselves in time."

For gave him a playfully adoring look. "You're a jewel among the pilots, Lisa. I could fell in undying love with you…"

"… if you weren't already hopelessly besotted with someone else, I know," Lindstrom said, suppressing the pang of regret she always felt when this topic came up. "All right, toy soldier, you've brooded enough for one day. Let's have some fun."

"Basketball?" Ford asked hopefully. They were both devoted fans, and Lindstrom had somehow managed to smuggle in a seemingly endless amount of recorded games on a pen drive. Or on more pen drives. Ford didn't know the details and didn't really care.

"Is there anything else?" Lindstrom grinned.

And so they spent the rest of the evening lazing on Lindstrom's bed and watching basketball on her laptop. After the third game, the _aquavit_ was gone and Ford's limps felt so heavy he could barely move. But that was okay, he could rash at Lisa's place, since she had night watch anyway. And in the morning he would perhaps be able to deal with the fact that he was now personally responsible for the best survey team of Atlantis.

_You wanted to become an officer_, he told himself before falling asleep. _Now you've gotten what you asked for._

The End


End file.
